


Insomnia Melodies

by blackcanvas



Category: Topp Dogg, jenro, taeho, topp klass, xenissi
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2205483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcanvas/pseuds/blackcanvas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jiho doesn't know how it all started but he wants it to stop.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Insomnia Melodies

**Author's Note:**

> 2 days and 5 hours of work. Meh.

Jiho doesn't know how it all started but he wants it to stop.  
It's a fact he's not talkative or hyper like the rest but it's well known that he quickly realizes things, either. 

 

The first time he sees Taeyang leaning on his back and nearly exhausted enough to pass out is when they finally take a break after breathless hours at the practice room. It turns out that he had forgotten to bring his phone, he sits on floor further from him and tired pair of eyes under faded red bangs start to scan all people right there as if he's really, looking for someone. Dongsung's voice crack for twice, Sehyuk probably needs to stop drinking liquids to soothe his throat. For a second he wonders if the others have always been this harsh, though, he's never been the type to pay attention. He tilts his head to the side until his cheek is pressed on the mirror, until heartbeats slow down to usual race, and until he spots Taeyang. First thing that makes him swallow some more frowsty air if possible, is almost purplish eyebags, second is how tiny he seems with that oversized shirt. He knows none of them gets enough sleep or rest due to their pretty rough schedule, especially him, with extra weight on his shoulders of being the oldest out of them, but Jiho swears it's not all about that. They have always been like this, trying and forcing their hardest at the very thought of succeesing and keeping up the sales, yet, he thinks he doesn't remember seeing Taeyang that small, ready to dissapear maybe, nearly lost in the corner of the walls. Jiho knows his insecurity in the little and pointless parts of his body, in curves, height, but he thinks that's what makes all Taeyang's flaws a literal perfection, that's what makes him human.  
Jiho isn't much of a good actor compared to Sangwon or the others, but he manages to pretend he's too tired to get up, just in fact to reach Taeyang when he's close. Also knows out of all the things that make his chest clench up and his palms sweaty, it's being less than a meter away from him, not that he always gets to experience because even through unspoken sentences, there's a visible glass between them and Jiho thinks it's probably a result of age gap and having nothing in common. Taeyang turns around on heels to look up when he feels a couple of shaky pale fingers on his bony shoulderblade, he doesn't expect much, gets an owl-eyed, sweaty Jiho examing every detail of his face, that lets out a sigh and, ''Hyung, are you alright?'' Taeyang shows him a tiny crooked smile and rubs his nape, ''I'm just tired.''  
Jiho hates being left alone in the practice room, to be honest, he hates the irritating fist inside his throat. Another countless thing he dislikes is admitting how deadly worried he is.

 

 

They’re standing in a line. Sehyuk makes them sing once at a time being the leader he is, lyrics held in their fists. Although none of them actually has the strenght to do right there right now, they go through each song, through every line, until Taeyang has scribbled all over his copy of the songs and made so many notes the tiny, scrawled characters run into each other and blend into nonsense words. ''Just ten more minutes until we're on.'' Taeyang is scared. No matter how hard he has been trying on the lyrics papers, his rapping, even his horrible dancing (which kept him awake and his eyes on the dirty reflection at 4 AM after silently sneaking out of the dormity because yeah, he definitely sucks), never feels enough to walk into that stage, neither has the heart to abandon his members on their first showcase, that had been working on for over half a year. He remembers begging Dongsung not to leave the band for fucks sake, and treating them dinners, cooking and nearly setting the kitchen on fire (apparently that's another story), but on the other side of the coin, he's terrified because he knows he will mess up the whole thing and be such a burden to them for the rest of his life. Taeyang takes the last minutes before death to restroom, presses his lips into a thin line, gets his head between his hands and screams out of frustration, throws a punch just above the painted wall, in the cabinet he's locked in because he's got damn too much pride to let anyone see him like this. He wants to cover up all his weakness and paint them in the darkest shade of black.  
Taeyang slightly flinches away from the wall he's been pressed himself but he doesn't dare to move, as if he's been caught red handed, lets silence sink in for a few lifetimes. ''Hyung?'' He hears Jiho say and the footsteps keep getting closer on the wet ground as he hums in respond. He doesn't feel the need to question this time. Jiho rests his forehead on the outside of cabinet, ''Hyung, it will go well.'' Always been equal and ambiguous but for now, he opens the door and slowly slides out from the sideways, looking a mix of mess and red, on the eyes and knuckles, probably soul too, ''Promise?'' Jiho huffs in a large breath and takes forward. ''Promise.'' He stays in place, unobtrusive and patient as he waits for Taeyang to acknowledge him. He knows doing anything otherwise will only be pointless and harmful for both, his face drawing a total colorless misery of 'I can't do this on my own' but Jiho's not going to let him fall (and decides that the small boy seriously should get some sleep as soon as possible because the bags under his eyes show through layers of foundation). Taeyang doesn't bother to wipe his face, rough fabric Jiho wears does it instead, when he walks closer, and looks at him, and buries his face into his chest. He's not sure why he does it, other than he feels mad, like an itch under his skin, and it's been a really long time since he's been close enough to anyone to feel the heat of someone's skin through their clothing, and it's Jiho, who hesitantly wraps his long arms around him. He thinks it's probably because they haven't been that close, prepared to explode, and curses at himself under his breath because it's his own fault, but it's the best they got, he has no regrets. Jiho feels like Taeyang is about the get lost in his arms against his defined collarbone and hopes that he doesn't find out about the fastening pace, he rubs his back and strokes some locks of hair, ready to be scolded, ''We should've been on stage by now.'' He hums into the comforting warmth of Jiho's body, he doesn't ever want to leave and stay behind the line of protectiveness. ''Yeah, whatever.'' He offers him a quick side-smile, the one that Taeyang loves the most, ''Come with me.'' Jiho tugs onto Taeyang's thin wrist and drags him off.  
Taeyang sincerely wishes they could get closer, but this world is not really a wish granting factory.

 

 

Later night at 4AM Jiho mentally praises himself for begging Sangdo to exchange dorms and shamelessly having a (forced) success. The subtle bed lamp had just kept lighting his face, though he can't clearly see it but still able to hear the rush of throwing papers and sribbling some other messily etched letters into the new one. Now Jiho stays still in the kitchen after watching Taeyang exit the dorm silently, the digital clock on the microwave reads 04:38 in acid green LED bulbs, several of them burnt out and faded so he has to look closely to tell fives from six' or fours from nines. He's mad at the members for not giving fucks enough to notice Taeyang is literally destroying himself day by day, surviving on a fading line that only contains starving and writing. Taeyang is slowly, but clearly, withering. It's kind of funny, like watching a hamster run itself to death in a wheel, for an exit that doesn’t exist. But Taeyang is fragile and Jiho is scared that he's going to break, he's been bending for a long time. (At least he can be silent when he really wants to, he gets out right behind him and no one seems to suspect a single thing, unsuprisingly) Jiho knows the only actual -somewhere- Taeyang goes is the little damp room he works in, that's lost inside of the very corner in the entertrainment building. Some girls are dancing, cheering, and it's the actual reason why the building is still alive ('it's not for your own sake, hyung'), he hurriedly waves at them and his feet carry some steps forward. He can hear the low rhytm that Taeyang hits his heel to floor along the melody he has in his head.  
Jiho nudges the studio door open with his foot and slips inside the room. The ramyun is placed on a small table in front of the leather couch, still empty and cold, hasn't even moved from where it has been put almost 4 hours ago, leaving rings of condensation on the wood. Taeyang is still sitting at the computer, back facing the door, and Jiho can softly hear the music seeping out from the headphones over his ears. The screen shows the familiar electronic display of synths in different colours and moves around. Honestly Jiho doesn’t understand how it works but he knows Taeyang and Sanggyun spend countless hours playing around it. ''Hyung?'' Jiho calls and Taeyang doesn't turn around, gaze still on the screen. ''Hm?'' He sits on the nearest seat. ''Have you slept?'' Jiho asks, he guesses the answer. He shakes his head, and Jiho doesn't know whether to cry or laugh, because the neon lights that dance on Taeyang's face make his eyebags even deeper now. He asks if he has the permission to watch him work on the next mixtape and shift over the old one for tonight, ''Yeah, whatever. Just keep quiet.'' Taeyang turns back to the screen but his shoulders are hunched up toward his ears and Jiho notices that his shoulder blades poke out a little further than they used to. He looks miserable, shattered into million pieces that can't be fixed anymore.  
Taeyang spells, counts on his fingers, slip ups and crosses some of them, in the end all dead words drain onto each other and find theirselves in the already full trash can, meeting all other wrinkled up papers. He slips away his headphones in annoyance, silent and pliant, Jiho just silently watches him go insane. Thankfully to God, it only takes some more punchs to throw, some more harsh pulls on his hair to calm down. Jiho has been fumbling with the hem of his shirt now. There again. Obvious. Taeyang's eye fall down to nearly emptied cigarette packs and slowly pushes with his fingertips. But Jiho has known, though, he always knows. Unlike others, he's way too open eyed not to find out the lies he had been telling to take some breaks and escape from backstages. He smiles. ''I think I like it better when it’s just us,'' Taeyang rumbles and sits back, pulling his seat closer to the other's, ''It’s not as loud, also no one minds me going crazy and see me fail.'' Jiho affords him a smile that comes with a low whisper, he knows it's stupid, Taeyang turns off the computer screen and turns his whole body to his, now he's really, for real, looking into his eyes and it makes Jiho sweat again, he doesn't know where to put hands, so he wipes them off and slowly places on Taeyang's thin thighs (and he doesn't flich away as Jiho thought he would), it makes him giggle. It’s always the soft touches that bring comfort to Taeyang, it’s the small whispers of encouragement that prevents him from breaking. Apart from the bunch of confidence and high, mocking letters he spits out on mixtapes and stupid lyrics, he's weak, his eyes are a disturbing mix of red and purple now, on a pale canvas that's dirty with a few stitch marks under his high cheekbone, now staring at him. Under his thick armor, Taeyang is dying, he's losing his color. And he thinks that's what makes Jiho different, because he can see through, because he doesn't need to pretend that he's so fucking alright. Jiho wants to fix all the little cracks hidden underneath the defiant stare and cocky smirk, he counts all of Taeyang's sleepless nights.  
Taeyang's eyes are unfocused, but they are set on Jiho's face.  
''You really should rest though, hyung.'' he whispers and zips up Taeyang's loose hoodie, it's almost 7 degrees and probably on purpose for more pain, he's about to freeze. Taeyang smiles, it's useless, ''They put me on melatonin to help me through sleep, not even working any longer.'' He pulls Jiho's seat to his own and digs his nose into his chest, their knees linked now, Taeyang doesn't think he ever wants to leave this warmth, doesn't want to leave what feels like home. Jiho hums, taking his theatrics with a smile, and his arms wind themselves around Taeyang's waist in the moment afterwards. They just stand here, scents mixed, silence, it feels like they're just melting, maybe blending into each other, Taeyang sinks his nails on Jiho's arm, right down to opened flesh until his nails are smeared with red, on the sliced skin. He doesn't whimper. If taking away your monster on me means you'll get better, Jiho thinks, then go ahead, I can take it.  
Taeyang wiggles a bit on his seat, a deep sigh shamelessly find its way to come out of his lips, he doesn't think he can deal with it any longer, not when he's about to burst and shaking his thighs out of annoyance, ''You are sitting so close,'' it's barely above a whisper, looks up at the younger boy and thinks it really sucks to be short as hell when you're half 50, ''but you're so far'' Taeyang murmurs, lost in his arms, heart beats against the others ears, because that's how small Taeyang is, ''I don't wanna be that far'' Jiho laughs and it sounds dry. ''Cliche.'' He moves up, to Jiho's face, and he doesn't mind having Taeyang's pale arms around his neck, his eyes are half open half closed now, he lazily presses little kisses alongside his ear, down to neck, and collarbones, and shoulder, chest. He wishes Jiho could take each of them as a confession. He's tired.  
The last time he calls for Taeyang to move because he can't move his thighs that they are literally numb, he doesn't respond in any way. Jiho assumes he's fallen asleep while they just can't stay still on seats, and is glad that Taeyang's light as a feather (also lost a lot of weight- but he doesn't want to think about it for now) so he manages to carry his weight to the practice room. There are no blankets, or comfort to rest on, but he thinks that they can share a warmth and it can be enough. Jiho doesn't even blink eyes for the whole night though, he can't risk to miss another second of a shut-down-Taeyang, he is beautiful. In every flaw, in his messed up bangs, in frustrated tears and fear of falling, in his bare face, in his honest and scared words, in the scars of his body-mostly soul. Jiho smiles and thinks he might be, a little bit, in love. 

 

''Jiho. Get up, it's half past nine.'' Taeyang wakes up his head is on Jiho's chest and his arm is crushed into the side of his waist. It's late.  
They should have been ready by now, he refuses, shrugs and turns back into the crook of Jiho's neck. Jiho retangles their legs. It's warm and Taeyang smells like his favorite chocolate with a small mix of cigarettes, he comes to the conclusion that he could just keep on living like that forever. ''Five more minutes.'' Jiho kisses Taeyang's forehead and nose, he confirms, tugging him closer. ''Five more.''


End file.
